Another poem I wrote

Through the woods, through the fields
Below the stars, above the wheat fields
On a plane, boat or motorcycle
They’ll travel at night
They are drawing at daytime and will sleep until noon
The wind is blowing them on a silver MZ
And they will drink forest tea from a golden samovar
Their faces are glowing with flaming sunburn.
Through the woods, through the fields
Below the stars, above the wheat fields
On a plane, boat or motorcycle
They’ll travel at night
They are drawing at daytime and will sleep until noon